Up-State lent over, his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands.
The boss looked at me. I give a jerk of my haid to show him he’d best go. And he walked off, grindin’ his teeth.
It seemed to me I could hear Up-State whisperin’ into his fingers. I stooped over. “What is it, pardner?” I ast.
“It’s full of home,” he says, “–it’s full of home! Cupid! Cupid!” (Darned if I don’t wisht them lungers wouldn’t come down here, anyhow. They plumb give a feller the misery.)
Doc Trowbridge stopped by just then. “How you makin’ it t’-day, Up-State?” he ast.
Up-State got to his feet, slow though, and put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “The next sandstorm, ole man,” he says; “the next sandstorm.”
“Up-State,” says Billy, “buck up. You got more lives’n a cat.”
“No show,” Up-State whispers back.
He was funny that-a-way. Now, most lungers fool theyselves. Allus “goin’ to git better,” y’ savvy. But Up-State–he knew.
“Come over to my tent t’-night,” he goes on to Billy. “I got somethin’ I want to talk to you about.”